“Actually, Dr. Middleton, I—” Sean started, but Winn Stevens jabbed him with his elbow. “Yes, sir,” he quickly amended, gingerly rubbing the jabbed rib.
“I see you’ve been schooling our intern, Winn. That’s good.” Dr. Middleton smiled at Coach Stevens then continued, “I asked you here because last night I had a word stuck in my head. Do you gentlemen know what that word was?”
“No, sir.” Sean was first to answer, beginning to catch on.
“The word was ‘renegade.’ Now, I don’t suppose either of you would know the meaning of the word ‘renegade.’” Dr. Middleton paused and looked questioningly at them.
Sean glanced at Winn Stevens and met with a look that he easily interpreted as do not answer him. Difficult as it was, he kept his mouth shut.
“I reckon not. Luckily, I’ve written it down.” Dr. Middleton fished a paper from his pocket, unfolded it, and read, “‘Renegade: a rebel; someone who chooses to live outside laws or conventions.’ Would either of you gentlemen disagree with that meaning?”
“No, sir.”
“Glad to hear we think alike, because what I have standing before me is a couple of renegades: men who don’t need laws or rules.” Dr. Middleton’s voice had a cadence that told Sean that Winn Stevens was right…he was in coaching mode. “Who needs rules when you can make them up as you go along? Never mind the hours, days, and weeks of energy the governing board of Norbury and myself put into developing discipline policies. What are policies but black words on a white page? No use to a couple of renegades. Am I right, gentlemen?”
Sean inwardly cringed—Kevin Brown and Joshua Scott, the boys he and Winn forced to join the basketball team for fighting. At least now he understood why Dr. Middleton was so unhinged. But he wasn’t surprised. Nothing at Norbury got by Hugh Middleton, and Sean knew that.
“I’ll take those worried-looking expressions on your mugs to mean you two mutineers understand why the tips of my ears are burning red this morning.”
“It was my fault, Dr. Middleton,” Winn Stevens spoke up. “I asked Kelly not to tell you as a favor to me. I should have followed procedure and brought Kevin and Joshua straight to you. It’s me you need to be angry at, not Sean.”
“No,” Sean argued. “I’m the one who’s to blame. As administrative assistant, it was my responsibility to make sure the discipline policy was enforced.”
“Would you two close your damn traps?” Dr. Middleton snapped, sounding exasperated. “It sorta takes all the fun out of draggin’ you boys to the woodshed if you’re gonna fight over who gets to go first.”
Detecting a slight trace of humor in Hugh Middleton’s tone, Sean and Winn Stevens reassumed a more dutiful stance for a proper bawling out and said, “Sorry, sir.”
“There now, that’s better.” Dr. Middleton crossed his arms over his chest. “Truth is, I happen to know that being on the basketball team has done wonders for Kevin and Joshua. I’m not an old fart — some sort of stickler who can’t function without a playbook. I’ve been in this business long enough to know that sometimes there are better ways to discipline boys than what’s written in those fuddy-duddy policy books. So see, it’s not so much that you fellahs didn’t follow procedure. No. What’s frying my bacon is we’re supposed to be on the same team, but you boys didn’t pass me the ball. Do I look incapable of handling the ball, gentlemen?”
“No, sir,” was the simultaneous reply with Sean adding, “Dr. Middleton, Coach and I made a bad call. I apologize. We should have come to you directly.”
“Yes. You should’ve, but you didn’t. And that’s why we’re standing here, isn’t it? Question now is: How do I discipline the two of you?”
As the word sunk in, Sean and Winn glanced at each other like condemned men waiting for the firing squad to lock and load.
Taking time to savor their expressions, Hugh Middleton tipped back his ball cap and gave each man a long, appraising look. He then asked Coach Stevens, “Winn, tell me, son. How many years were you on my football team?”
“Four years,” Stevens replied.
“Four years…and a damn good running back too. If my memory serves, you still hold Norbury’s record for rushing yards.”
“I do, sir.”
“Being one of my players for so long, I’ll bet you remember Coach Middleton’s consequences for not being a team player?”
Winn Stevens gave him a single bob of his head. “Yes, sir.”
“Then maybe you’d be so kind as to share with Mr. Kelly.”
Grimacing apologetically, Stevens turned to Sean and said, “Laps.”
Hugh Middleton grinned largely. “That’s right. And as I’m feeling generous this morning, I think eight will soothe my soul just fine. Well, get at it boys.”
“Eight laps!” Sean exclaimed. “But, Dr. Middleton, that’s a quarter-mile track. That’s…that’s two miles.”
“Kelly, do you remember telling me that mathematics was your most difficult subject?”
“Yeah.” Sean nodded.
“I’d say you’re making great progress in that area, son. Keep up the good work.” Smiling smugly, Hugh Middleton took off his Bulldogs’ cap and headed back up the bleachers.
“He’s not serious, is he?” Sean asked, watching the man depart. “Surely, he doesn’t expect us to run laps like naughty schoolboys.”
“I’ve never known Hugh Middleton not to be serious when he’s wearing his Georgia Bulldogs’ cap. Well, best get it over with.” Stevens stretched his long limbs then took off at a slow pace to warm-up.
Still a tad stunned, Sean hesitated momentarily then looked back up the bleachers. Dr. Middleton was gone; maybe he was serious. “Two miles…bloody hell,” he mumbled to himself. After dithering another moment, Sean swallowed a rather hefty dose of pride and sprinted to catch up with Winn.
A short while later, Sean entered his office, sweating profusely. He was holding a cup of water in one hand and pressing his side with the other.
“Haven’t you hit the showers yet?” Dr. Middleton turned around in Sean’s desk chair and asked.
“I just bloody finished,” he growled back, wincing as he sat down.
Hugh Middleton looked at his watch. “Damn, man, it took you thirty minutes to run two miles?”
Sean glowered at him as he pulled his sleeve across his beaded brow. “A grand question from a man who’s been sittin’ back drinkin’ coffee all mornin’, so it is.”
Leaning back, Dr. Middleton stifled what was sure to be an unwelcomed smile. He had noticed that, when riled, the young Ulsterman was unable to tuck away even the tiniest corner of his brogue. Hugh Middleton understood. As best he could, he’d polish up his southern drawl in certain situations, but when his temper was up, he sounded as if he’d just stepped out of a backwoods swamp. “Before you make that accusation, young man, you might know that, when I met you and Winn at the track this morning, I’d just finished my run. It’s my routine — three mornings a week to be exact.”
Surprised, Sean asked, “You run two miles three mornings a week?”
“Mm-hmm, sometimes three. I never dole out a punishment that I wouldn’t or couldn’t do myself—a good policy for you to bear in mind when you’re ringmaster of your own circus one day.” Dr. Middleton smiled then. “And you will be. I’ve no doubt.”
“Sir, I—” Sean started, sounding somewhat sheepish, but Hugh Middleton put up a hand and stopped him.
“Think no more about it,” he said. “We’re square, you and I. And I know Winn Stevens all too well. This morning was more for his bonehead than yours. Did you know that Prissy and I almost adopted that boy?”
“Why almost?” Sean asked.
“Because at the time, Winn had a grand-mama who wasn’t able to take care of him, but in good conscience, couldn’t give him up. She was a fine woman. Winn’s a lot like her. He’s always been a favorite of mine, and I reckon he knows it because he’s always gone out of his way to try and impress me.” Dr. Middleton chuckled. “Unfo
rtunately, that’s what usually gets him into trouble. He’ll make Norbury a fine head coach once he grows up a bit more.”
Curious, Sean carefully questioned, “Dr. Middleton, may I ask…why you haven’t had children of your own?”
Sighing, Dr. Middleton stood and came around Sean’s desk. “Prissy and I’ve tried of course, but God had other plans for us. These boys, all of them, have been our children in some way or another.”
Thoughtfully, Sean nodded but couldn’t say he understood. Although he looked forward to a career much like Hugh Middleton’s, he couldn’t imagine his life with Catie devoid of the children they would together create.
Lightening the mood, Dr. Middleton slapped Sean’s back and, in his usually jovial way, said, “Hit the shower, Kelly. You smell like a wet dog. And if you want to work off some of that southern cooking that’s been gatherin’ around your mid-section, start meeting me at the track—6:30, sharp.”
“I might just do that, sir. Say, what’s your best time?”
Stopping at the door, Dr. Middleton turned back and said, “Sixteen minutes—flat. But don’t worry, son, I’ll go easy on you the first few times.”
***
Greatly enjoying the early crisp December afternoon, Sean walked out to the stables. Dried fallen leaves blew about him in the late autumn wind, giving him that brooding frame of mind such a day brings on a man. Winter was only a few weeks away, ushering in with it his and Catie’s first Christmas together as man and wife. Sean smiled as he recalled his conversation with Bennet Darcy that morning, knowing how happy their planned Christmas Eve surprise would make her. Interrupting his thoughts, a group of boys ran past, calling out to him as they hurried to their afternoon chores. Sean gave them an amiable, “Afternoon, lads,” all the while sensing the lone walker who strolled purposefully behind his peers, always at his own pace—Toby Patterson. Sean slowed his step, hoping the child would catch up, but Toby must have slowed down as well, for Sean reached the stables well before him.
Since the night he and Gabriel found Toby Patterson on the bench near the home where his mother was murdered, the child hadn’t spoken again. However—Sean had noted with much interest—neither did he make his ritual Monday trips to the bench outside Sean’s office. Something had changed in Toby that night. There was a new look in the boy’s eyes, making Sean believe those chambers, which slammed so forcibly shut in the face of unspeakable tragedy, might have finally reopened. The only worry was the child’s grandfather from North Carolina, who was slowly working his way through the proper channels, trying to gain custody of the child. For once, Sean was grateful for bureaucratic red tape. Toby Patterson needed to stay put in order to fully heal.
After speaking with Matthias, Sean found Toby scooping feed into a bucket for his assigned horses. He reached up and grabbed a weight tape from a hook. “Toby,” he asked, “would you kindly help me measure the horses’ weight before you feed them?”
“I’d be much obliged, Toby,” Matthias seconded, coming up behind Sean. “Let me get you a clipboard. I’ll need those measurements for my records.”
Obediently, Toby sat down the feed buckets, went over, and stood beside Sean.
“Right,” said Sean, smiling down at the boy as he handed him the clipboard and showed him where to write the names of the horses and their measurements. “Shall we get at it then?”
Blinking, Toby silently stared up at him.
“Right,” Sean repeated then walked over to the first stall. “Stand on the other side of the horse and let me know if the tape is twisted. If our measurements aren’t exact, the horse’s weight will be off.” Sean then measured the horse’s girth, purposefully twisting the tape in hopes that Toby would call out from the other side of the animal. In only a second, Toby was standing beside him, pointing to the tape measure. “Is the tape twisted?” Sean asked, sounding somewhat disappointed. The boy nodded.
For the next hour, Sean talked until he got tired of hearing his own voice, but to no avail. Toby wasn’t to be so easily drawn in. When all the measurements were done, Sean showed Toby the formula for calculating the weight of the horses then sat the boy at Matthias’s desk to do the math. Employing his fingers and biting the corner of his mouth, the child finished the figures rather quickly and handed the clipboard back to Sean.
“Finished already?” he teased. “Any mistakes you think?”
Again, his reply was a blinking stare.
“All right then.” Sean licked the end of the pencil and began checking Toby’s calculations. “Humph.” He gave the boy a narrowed look then smiled and tousled his straight, blonde hair. “Not one error.”
“Well I’ll be a monkey’s uncle,” Matthias exclaimed. “He’s a regular math whiz.”
If only slightly, the corners of Toby’s mouth twitched.
As Sean walked back to his office, a few boys hurriedly made their way to the resident cottages, speaking with their heads close and voices low. He smiled, remembering his own adolescence, a time when the bonds of camaraderie could only be equated to wartime soldiers. Again, Toby Patterson trailed behind his fellow students, but this time, Sean purposefully waited and fell in step with the boy. Unlike at the stables, Sean didn’t rattle on, choosing instead to walk alongside the boy in silence. At the very least, Toby wouldn’t feel alone.
When they reached the spot where Sean would head up the steps to his office, he said, “Well, cheers, Toby.”
Without replying, Toby continued walking.
Chuckling, Sean spoke loud enough for Toby to hear. “You know, lad, I can’t get over you thinking my brother Gabriel was an angel. I’m not pokin’ fun at you, but if you knew him — had grown up with him, well, you’d understand the funny side to it. Gabriel might have been named after an angel, but he certainly doesn’t look like one.”
At that, Toby stopped, turned back, and looked at Sean with noticeable umbrage in his expression.
“I’m sorry, Toby.” Cursing his insensitivity, Sean apologized at once. “Like I said, I wasn’t pokin’ fun at you.”
Toby blinked nervously for several long seconds then said, “My mama said angels are all around us. She said they can look like anybody. My mama wouldn’t say it if it weren’t true.”
Praying he was masking his shock, Sean slowly nodded. “You’re right, lad. Your mama wouldn’t say anything that wasn’t true.”
Seeming satisfied with Sean’s answer, Toby blinked a few more times then turned and walked away.
From out of nowhere, a realization came over Sean, like that feeling you get when you find something you’ve been searching for long and hard. At that moment, Sean knew he must find a way to go see Toby Patterson’s father.
Chapter 19
Savannah isn’t just a city; she’s a lady—a beautiful lady—and never is that more apparent than when she’s dressed up for the holidays. Festive decorations don brightly lit mansions, townhomes, and row houses, where parties and music spill out into the streets even on chilly, December nights. The parks and squares are gussied up for the season with mistletoe, pine wreaths, and bows while carriages add green and red woolen lap blankets for winter sunset journeys through town.
The sights were exciting for Catie, as Christmastime was her favorite time of year. Unfortunately, all the decking and donning worked equally in stirring the homesickness she so often battled, but she pushed Pemberley and Derbyshire to the back of her mind, determined that her first Christmas as a married woman not be a sad one.
“Does Santa Claus go to England?” Jamal asked Catie as she gathered his reading together.
“Of course.” She smiled at him. “Except us Brits call him Father Christmas.”
“Oh. Mrs. Kelly?”
“Yes, Jamal.”
“W-w-will you c-come to Norb-bury for Christm-m-mas?”
Catie frowned. Jamal hadn’t stuttered that badly in her presence for some time. “Mr. Kelly and I are helping serve dinner on Christmas day, so yes.”
Profusely blushing,
the boy picked up a book from the table, hid behind it, and asked, “W-w-will you eat w-with m-m-me?”
Catie smiled again. “I would very much like to eat Christmas dinner with you, Jamal. Thank you for asking.”
Grinning to his ears, Jamal peeked from behind the book then got up and bolted from the library, eliciting a scold from the librarian on his way out for running inside.
Laughing softly to herself, Catie stacked and straightened the latest story she had written for the child and put it with the others she’d been keeping in a notebook. She sighed. Maybe it was just another frivolous fancy, like wanting to be a teacher. She wanted so badly to speak with Sean about her dream of writing children’s books but feared that, as the librarian did to Jamal, he might scold her for running. It had always been Catie’s way. When an idea popped into her head, she ran with it—flew it high like a kite and revered it as the most brilliant, cleverest scheme ever. In contrast, Sean was the pragmatic one and, most likely, exactly what she needed—someone to grab her feet and pull her back down to earth every now and then. She sighed again. Maybe she would talk to him…eventually.
The door to his office was shut, so Catie rapped softly on the frosted glass insert. She waited for him to call out, but instead he opened it. “Hey, you,” she said, smiling at him.
“Hey back,” he answered, but something was wrong…she sensed it immediately. “Come in, cailín.”
She stepped in and saw that Hugh and Prissy Middleton were there, both smiling rather sympathetically at her. “What is the matter?” she looked back at Sean and asked.
“Sit down, Catie. I’ve something to tell you,” he told her, but she shook her head.
“No, thank you, I’ll stand.”
He took her hands in his. “Catie, the Middleton’s have just shared some very sad news with me.”
Casting quick, guarded glances at Hugh and Prissy, she testily beseeched him, “Sean, please stop beating around the bloody bush.”
“All right.” Sean looked down at their joined hands then back up and into her eyes. “Annabelle Montague has cancer. The board of directors was just informed of her illness this morning. She has known since last spring but has chosen to keep her illness private until now.”
The Heart Does Whisper (Echoes of Pemberley Book 2) Page 23